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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23021761">your sweet time is spent</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/snazzyflower/pseuds/snazzyflower'>snazzyflower</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, Past Relationship(s), Romance, again no beta we die like men, from the mission fatherhood and other dreams, just let them be happy please, just sad all around, kind of</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:13:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,852</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23021761</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/snazzyflower/pseuds/snazzyflower</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Mary together in Saint Denis.</p><p> </p><p>(title from Chariot by Beach House)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mary Gillis Linton/Arthur Morgan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>your sweet time is spent</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>howdy all! so obviously, this takes place during the mission "fatherhood and other dreams", with most of the dialogue being taken directly from the game.<br/>now, i completely understand that mary takes advantage of arthur for the exact traits that won't allow them to be together. but i don't think it's as simple as that, and i wanted to elaborate on that here. especially with this mission, you can see that mary's intentions are far more complicated than what is shown in "we loved once and true".<br/></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hold on, Mary, I’ll go get the brooch,” he says before running off.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t hurt anyone!” she calls after him. He waves her off.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’ll probably kill someone,” her father says, spitting at the ground. He reeks of whiskey and scum. Mary’s about to protest when he adds, “oh, but you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mary’s mouth falls open. “Daddy, I am ashamed of you,” she says, and she means it. Her father had never been a particularly good man, but these days Mary could barely look at him. “I was worried about you, you horrible man, so I asked him for help. And I find you selling mother’s brooch!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her father narrows his eyes. They’re a bit cloudy, and Mary sees he’d been drinking. Not that she’s surprised. “Oh, don’t play innocent with me, girl. You called on him for yourself.” Mary flushes, and he rolls his eyes. “You and your depraved tastes. That man is a criminal, Mary, and you disgrace your family by associating with him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Daddy! Don’t speak of him like that.” Mary can’t believe she’d been worried about her father. For all that she’s tried, it seems that her father can’t be saved, or doesn’t <em>want</em> to be saved. She expects her chest to hurt at the realization, but she finds she feels nothing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Maybe I’ve always known,</em> she thinks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her father smiles, horrible and mean. “And why not? It’s what he is. But you’ve never been smart enough to see it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Daddy.” She’s tired of having this conversation. “I left Arthur. All those years ago, I left him, all because <em>you </em>didn’t like him. What else do you want me to do?” She wants to slam her foot on the ground, to hit her father, to do <em>anything</em>. She ruined her life for his sake, and it was never enough for him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He scoffs. “Oh, please. You left him, but you never gave him up. You think I don’t see that ugly ring you wear around your neck?” Startled, Mary’s hand flies to Arthur’s ring. She’d kept it on a pendant all these years, hidden under the neckline of her blouses and dresses. She’d thought she hid it well enough from him-</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her father looks at her with drunken disgust. His words are starting to slur together, but his anger burns bright as ever. “You’re lucky I don’t rip it off your neck and pawn it next. Look at you, like a dog with his leash around your neck.” He takes a shaky step forward, and Mary takes two steps back. He laughs. “Pathetic. No daughter of mine.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Arthur Morgan is a better man than you’ve ever been, or will be.” Her voice is quiet, but strong. She means it. “I cannot <em>believe </em>I was worried about you. I never should’ve asked him to help, you don’t deserve his time of day-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re right about one thing, girl. You never should’ve asked him.” He approaches her, but she doesn’t move back this time. She’s not afraid of her father.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t follow me. Run off with your outlaw and get yourself killed for all I care. He’ll get what’s coming to him soon enough.” He brushes by her, his shoulder connecting with hers, and storms off further into the alleys. The smell of alcohol follows him so strongly that Mary wonders if she could light a match and watch the trail catch. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She balls her hands into fists, physically keeping herself from running after him and screaming at him. She turns and sits on the edge of a box, trying to control her breathing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">What a horrible, awful man. <em>I should’ve done it, </em>Mary thinks. <em>All those years ago, I should’ve… when he asked, I should’ve..</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mary sighs. There was no use getting lost in the past; there was nothing she could do about it now. She wanted to run off and hole up forever in her misery, but she was still waiting for Arthur to return. She felt awful for having called on him again, knowing he’d help her, but she didn’t know what else to do. Her life seemed to be a nonstop disaster these days, and her mind keeps finding its way back to Arthur. Mary thinks of him constantly, of the life they could’ve had, if only she’d been different. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’d been so, so young. Daddy hadn’t been as bad, then, but Mary had always seen where he’d been heading. She had wanted to leave with Arthur. She loved Hosea and Bessie, and little John Marston who’d always been a thorn in Arthur’s side, which she found endearing. She could’ve been happy with them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But she couldn’t leave Jamie with her father. She’d always thought that she could save her father from himself, and protect her brother from his wrath, but she had to be there to do so. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t have left… right?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But now, Mary sees that she failed in all aspects. She thought she could’ve saved her father; she certainly didn’t. She supposes she’d always known that he couldn’t be helped, but she was too naive to accept that. She couldn’t help her darling brother, Jamie, either; daddy had berated him so awfully that he ran off to join the <em>Chelonians,</em> of all things. As for her love life, well.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That was a disaster in and of itself. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’d never loved Barry Linton. Try as she might, Mary had never succeeded. He was a friend, and she’d mourned his death, but she'd already been ruined. All those days, the horse rides and the sunsets and the nights they’d spent alone had done her in. Yes, she knew it was horrid and wrong and all of those things, but she couldn’t help what had already been done. There would never be anyone else for her but-</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Where’s your father?” Arthur says as he approaches. Mary looks up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know,” she tells him. The look on his face is full of concern, and her heart aches in her chest. <em>Such a good man, </em>she thinks. <em>The best I’ve ever known. He deserves much better than me. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What, you want me to go after him again?” he asks, stepping closer. She studies his face. She’d always thought he’d been beautiful, though he’d never hear it. <em>I’m a cowboy, Mary, </em>he’d always said. <em>I’m not beautiful.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just like she’d had to on the train from Valentine, she closes her eyes against the memories. Mary finds she’s easily overwhelmed by them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not really.” She doesn’t want to tell him how terrible her father had just been. Arthur had always known how bad daddy was, but Mary’d been blind for too long. She’d taken advantage of him enough today; telling Arthur she finally understood felt like it’d be too much.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, let’s take a walk,” he says, nodding his head towards the street. His voice is gentle. “I’ll take you to the trolley.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She knows she doesn’t deserve his kindness, that she should say no and send him away. Mary feels herself falling back in, and knows she can’t do that to him, not again. But she can’t help herself; she never could, not with him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mary smiles and stands. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As they make their way to the street, Arthur reaches into his satchel. “I, erm, got you your brooch back,” he says, handing it to her. She looks at it, then at Arthur, then back to the brooch. <em>He’ll probably kill someone, </em>daddy had said. Mary knows she could ask, but finds she honestly doesn’t care all that much.<br/></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I won’t ask,” she says, putting it away. Mary knows that Arthur has the capacity to harm others; that for all intents and purposes, he is an outlaw. But he’d never hurt her- Mary didn’t even think it quite possible. For all that Mary was unsure of in life, she knew without a doubt that Arthur Morgan was a good man at heart. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Arthur grins a bit. “Probably best not.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mary’s heart pounds in her chest as the trolley comes into view. She looks behind her, taking in their surroundings. They were back near the city center again, and she wasn’t ready to leave him. Not yet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She reaches out to grab his arm, stopping him. “Hey,” she asks timidly, and feels her pulse quicken. She wants to roll her eyes at herself; she’s known Arthur Morgan far too long to be acting like a school girl.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What are you doing now.. right this moment?” she asks, twisting her hands. <em>Get it together, Mary!</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He raises his eyebrows. “Why’d you ask?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughs nervously. “Well, I was…” she looks around, exasperated at herself. <em>Spit it out, girl. </em>He’s looking at her intently, as he always does, as though every word she says is utterly important to him. “I was wonderin’ if you wanted to do something? Head to the theater, perhaps.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mary watches him think for a moment, and begins to worry. He has every right to say no, and yet she finds herself desperately hoping he’d say yes.<em>Lord</em>, she thinks. <em>It’s like being eighteen again. </em>Although, when they were young, Arthur had always been the nervous wreck, and she'd always laughed at him, finding it sweet. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Theater, me?” he says finally. She almost thinks she’s offended him. <em>Oh, of course he doesn’t want to go to the theater, you stupid-</em> “Sure, why not.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She lets go of a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “It’ll be fun, Arthur!” she says, walking in the direction of the Saint Denis Theater. “Let’s go to the <em>Râleur</em>, they have the strangest acts.” Mary loved the theater. She and Jamie used to go often, their excuse to avoid the house after mother had passed, though she hadn’t been in years. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Strangeness I can handle,” Arthur tells her. The sunlight is bright against the wet pavement. “It’s the normal business of life I can’t seem to get a grip on.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mary chuckles. Jamie had mentioned to her on their train from Valentine that she and Arthur were the same as they’d always been. He’d been right, of course. “You and me both, Arthur.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’d taken up easy conversation as they approached their destination. He’d asked how Jamie was doing, and in turn she’d inquired about Hosea and the rest of the gang. When she'd met them, all those years ago, she had taken a particular liking to Hosea. He was one of the people who’d made her think that she could exist in Arthur’s world, running with the gang as an outlaw. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oh, if only she’d had the courage to leave with him back then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, I’ve missed you,” she tells him with a smile. And she had. As cliché as it was, Arthur had always felt like the missing piece of her soul. They were so very alike, but the ways they were different seemed to fit together, oddly enough, and only brought them closer. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t start…” he says, voice soft in it’s warning. She rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re an idiot,” she says. <em>So am I</em>. “But you’ll always be my friend.” She almost chokes on the word, but what else could she say? <em>You’ll always be the love of my life?</em> For however true it was, it certainly wasn’t fair. Not to him, or herself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, of course I’m your friend, but-” Was it her imagination, or did he seem to trip over the word too? She shakes her head; it’s all too confusing. He turns to face her, and they stop walking for a moment. “You ain’t always fair with me,” he says. He’s right, of course, and Mary feels awful over it, but she doesn’t want to ruin their time together. They have so little of it, nowadays. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If I was fair with you, and a good person, I’d have had you hanged a long time ago,” she tells him matter-of-factly. Technically, she was right, but they both knew she’d never have done it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well-“ he stops, looking into her eyes. Mary feels like he can see right through her. “That’s true.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughs at him. “So, shut up and act like a gentleman,” she says. Feeling bold, she grabs his arm and loops hers through it. “Or at least try to, for once in your brainless life.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Arthur laughs and holds her steady as they walk, and Mary <em>really</em> feels eighteen again. This easy back and forth, the humor and the nearness… it had always been like this. She almost feels whole again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Far too quickly for Mary’s tastes, they reach the theater. “You’re not a very nice woman, Mrs. Linton,” he tells her. Mary almost corrects him, almost says <em>it’s Gillis again,</em> but finds she doesn’t much want to share her father’s last name either. She thinks of the ring around her neck, of the last name she could’ve had.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, look at the company I keep,” she says instead. He smiles at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know, it’s quite dreadful, isn’t it?” They both laugh as they enter the theater. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Upon entering, they are immediately assaulted by the ostentatious décor of the place, with it’s high ceilings and fake gold gildings. Arthur whistles lowly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mary makes a face. “It’s sort of beautiful, in a gaudy and tasteless way.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s the only way I know,” Arthur says as they approach the ticket booth. Mary knows he doesn’t mean it that way, but she can’t help herself. He’s just so easy to tease.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you,” she says pointedly, sending him a look. She almost laughs at the way he sputters, the poor man. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, no, I-I didn’t mean it like that-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sure,” she says. He clears his throat. Leaning against the wall, Mary gives him a genuine smile. “You silly man.” He sighs at her antics, and turns with their tickets in hand. She grabs his arm once again. “Come on, let’s go find our seats.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The show is strange and wonderful. They both cheer and applaud as the obnoxious Aldridge T. Abbington prefaces each of his acts. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sometime during his (too long) opener, Arthur says, “So, is this starting or not?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mary’s inclined to agree, but pokes fun at him anyway. “Are you in a rush, Arthur?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The singer, Robin Koninsky, is wonderful, and is surely Mary’s favorite act of the night. She remembers seeing Robin perform once before, with Jamie, the memory soft and warm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The dancing fire lady is certainly enjoyable, but far too nerve-wracking for her tastes.<br/></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can see how this could go horribly wrong,” Arthur mutters to her. Mary shudders.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I just hope she stays away from the curtain.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The french dancers are Arthur’s favorite act, Mary assumes, but finds she isn’t too bothered by it. She isn’t much interested in watching them dance, but instead watches Arthur as slyly as she can manage. His face is alight with joy, a grin plastered on his face. He’s laughing and cheering with the rest of them, the usual tenseness in his shoulders gone. He looks utterly relaxed, in a way he hadn’t been able to be even when they were young. Her heart hurts for him. She wishes she could take away his pain, and is happy to help him relax, even if just for a short while.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When the show ends, they both stand. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” he says, leading the way. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That was fun!” Mary says, and he grins back at her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They find themselves laughing once again as they walk through the awful entryway and back outside. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, you better take me to the trolley now, Mr. Morgan,” she says. She doesn’t want to leave him, but worries over her brother. Father must’ve surely found his way home by now, and poor Jamie would get the brunt of it without her there. She knows he’s a man now, that he can take care of himself, but he was still her baby brother. She felt obligated to protect him, and would until she died. And besides, daddy has yet to stoop so low as to hit her, but Jamie was fair game in his eyes. It made her absolutely furious. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course,” he says, leading her in the right direction. They begin walking, Mary making sure to take her time. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Quite ridiculous…” she says, humor coloring her voice. They make more comfortable small talk as they walk.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Far too soon, she hears the bell of the trolley. The knowledge that they’d be parting so soon saddened her, and suddenly she couldn’t hold back anymore. She needed to say something, anything.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My life wasn’t supposed to…” she sighs. She turns to him suddenly, laying a hand on his arm. Mary knows the answer already, but can’t stop herself from asking. “Is it too late for us, Arthur?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">His eyes are sad, and she feels her heart break once again. She doesn’t deserve him, she knows it, and yet… “I can’t lie to ya,” he says, voice heart-</span> <span class="s1">achingly soft. Daddy says he’s a criminal, that Arthur's all that’s bad in this world, but he doesn’t know. No bad man could look at her like this, Mary is sure of it. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m a wanted man, Mary.” He says her name so softly. She knows it can’t work for so many reasons, but he’s all she’s ever wanted despite all of it. “If I- if anyone close to me- well, they’re wanted too, and I can’t have you wrapped up in that.” She wants to say that none of it matters, that she doesn’t care, but that’s only partly true. She loves him desperately, knows that he’s inherently good, no matter what he’s done, but he’s right. Mary can’t be wanted by the law. She doesn’t know how to live that way.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe she could’ve, if she’d learned how to. He’d given her the chance to come with him long ago. If she’d gone, she could’ve learned, and maybe they could’ve worked. But it was too late for that, now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But it’s coming to an end,” he says, voice passionate. “This time, it really is.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mary feels crazed, desperate. She doesn’t want to lose him, not again. “Run away with me, Arthur,” she pleads. “Run away right now, and don’t look back.” She knows it’s crazy and unfair, knows he’d never do it, because they’ve had this exact conversation many times before. He’s far too good a man to leave his family and run away with her, however badly he wants it. She’s a far less good person than he, but knows the same thing held her back all those years ago. It keeps her from running away with him even now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grabs her hand and holds it tightly. She wants to sob. He holds her gaze, eyes so very gentle. “I want to,” he says, and she believes him. Oh, she knows he’s being truthful, and it makes it that much harder to hear. “More than anything, I want to.” She grips his hand tightly, as if that could prevent him from leaving her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But I’ve got some people I need to take care of. Once they’re free, then I’m free, then I can <em>disappear.</em>” There’s fire in his voice now, and she understands. He burns so brightly for those he loves. The same fire is in her, somewhere, and was why she couldn’t leave back then. She understands, and yet her heart still throbs painfully in her chest. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But Arthur…” She doesn’t know what she’s protesting. The unfairness of it all, maybe. But what is there to do?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If we’re gonna run away anywhere, we’d need money,” he says, and Mary curses her father once again. She’d be willing to steal every last dime from her father’s pocket if he hadn’t gambled it all away. “And soon, I’ll have some.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mary feels tears in her eyes and looks away. “I know you won’t run away…” she says softly. She doesn’t mean it viciously. One of the things she’d always loved most about Arthur was his loyalty to his family, but it all hurt just the same. She pulls her hands from his, gently. Arthur looks confused and hurt, and she wishes she could explain it all. But she doesn’t have the words for it, and she knows he somehow understands, anyway. She slowly makes her way towards the trolley, each step away from him heavier and heavier. “But it’s a pretty dream.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His voice sounds just as wistful as hers. “Very pretty.” She tries to keep walking, but she can’t help but stop when he continues. “But I will, once I get some money. Now, I had some, but then some fool got it trapped into a town that I can’t go back to.” He looks agitated, and she almost wants to laugh. She wonders briefly if it was that John Martson he’d complained incessantly about when they were young. Mary met him once, and didn’t think he was all that bad. He’d reminded her of Jamie a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She doesn’t believe him when he says he’d run away with her. Not because he isn’t honest and good, but because he loves his family. Mary doesn’t want to force him away from that, truly. But she thinks she may be ready to leave with him. Jamie's old enough to decide whether he wants to return to school, or maybe he'd want to come with her. Either way, he’d be safe from daddy, and she’d <em>finally </em>be free to be with Artjur, if he’d have her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It lifts her heart with hope, but it’s all too much for right now. She needs time to collect her thoughts, to think of ways she can gather some money herself. She turns to him, looks into his eyes. “I’ll write you,” she promises. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” he says, and she knows he’s confused. Mary promises herself to explain it all as soon as possible, but she can’t do it now. She needs to think it all through, still. She makes her way onto the trolley, pausing to look back at him. The late afternoon sunlight shines on him, now, as if looking for just him. She almost smiles; he’d never thought himself beautiful, but he was the loveliest man she knew, inside and out. May wants to call out to him once more, to hop off and hug him before she leaves, but the trolley driver interrupts her thoughts. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ma’am? Please take your seat, we have a schedule to keep.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Muttering an apology, she hurries to her seat, the trolley beginning to move before she even sits. Immediately she pulls out her pocket notebook, a habit she’d picked up from Arthur long ago, and begins drafting a letter.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sends the letter a week later. She asks him to meet her if he can, and she would explain it all. She had a way to get money now. Jamie was set to return to college, and would be safe there. It was all going to work out, if only he’d hear her out one last time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He never came. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>quick note about the end:<br/>in mary's final letter to arthur, she mentions that he never showed up to their last meeting, implying that she sent him another one after they met in saint denis. obviously, arthur never read it because of the bank job (ie they were in fucking guarma), but mary couldn't know that. either way, i hurt my own feelings writing this. hope you enjoyed!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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